The Diary of Mannimarco the biggest Boss in Tamriel
by Skelo
Summary: Did you love Mannimarco in Oblivion? Upset that the Wolf Queen didn't measure up? Were your future high elf characters all based off of him? Well have no fear; the greatest, pimp, badass necromancer has come to Skyrim and all the ladies love him. A truly fun little one shot that may become more. Future lemons if requested; definetly M as is. Btw where the hell is Mannimarco char?


**Hey guys this is an interesting little one shot that I wrote that may evolve into more with enough reviews. Tell me what you guys think in Reviews! Btw this sort of style will remain but it will become more current and less Journal Entry style later on if you guys like it.**

Greetings insects; my name is Mannimarco. Yes I am the high elf King of Worms and the hero of the Oblivion Crisis. Of course, no one knew that I was both people. You see, at the beginning I was briefly locked up due to Imperial guards raiding my lab and finding potions, books and dissected bodies.

Oh no, a high elf studying dead bodies couldn't possibly be anything other than practicing necromancy; as if I would be so stupid as to crossover my two separate identities. It couldn't be that I; the great Falcar (my other mage identity) had a mastery in both restoration and alchemy for a reason! Oh no…

At least now that I have assumed my true identity again I can stop with that ghastly haircut and go back to my tried and true long hair with a topknot style that the ladies love. But unfortunately similar facial structures would still be noticed, so I had to use an aging paste to show Manniarco's true apparent age.

You see, from a young age I found myself to be talented in illusion magic. This in itself is hardly rare; what was unique though was that I focused on the rarely used charm magic spells; rather than the whole turning invisible thing. Although I did study paralysis magic to great effect in my later years; easier to dissect the target you see.

I'm rambling; most Necromancers crossover their necromancy with conjuration magic; to conjure said zombie without resurrecting a dead body. I however felt that I could crossover necromancy with illusion magic, specifically charm magic. I created Soul Charm; the ability to charm a person's soul just by speaking to them. Hah, I knew being born under the Serpent was good for something.

The only way to defend against it was by carrying the soul of a mage within a specific black soul gem. I had endless fun laughing because Arch-Mage Traven sent me on a quest to slay myself once I got out of prison. Not that I minded, I had learnt almost all there was to know about necromancy through my various ruses. As for how I fooled everyone with the age thing, I charmed those who wrote history along with members of the Mages Guild. No one had a defense ready after all. Falcar then 'defeated' Mannimarco.

Now as the new Arch-Mage I repaid my debt to the Emperor (for busting me out) by stopping the Oblivion Crisis. Of course I had a lot of fun along the way: without the aging paste I was a young, blond Mannimarco once more. Of course I still went by the name Falcar and all my recent necromancer followers were dead and dissected to complete my research in the Staff of Worms. With staves of charm and reanimation across my back; my handsome young Altmer self; dressed in the white robes of the Arch-Mage, drew women to me like honey.

Stopping the Oblivion Crisis helped too; and I eventually became a role model, an almost Saint that every high elf loyal to the Empire should aspire to. And make no mistake; I was loyal. I may commit any crime with little or no hesitancy or morality; but I had never committed treason. We could do far worse then be ruled by a race of what were essentially non-racist merchants. Efficient too; believed that coin made the world go round and if you had the coin then the efficient Imperial merchants would line up at your door with the materials.

My rapid advancement to being a Master in Alchemy could almost solely be attributed to efficient Imperial delivery times. The 'almost' part was due to Julienne Fanis, a hot little Breton alchemist with horrible business sense; or any source of sense actually. We parted on good terms when I learnt (read: fucked) every bit of knowledge from her.

But my foray into Necromancy, Restoration and Alchemy could only have one inevitable conclusion: Immortality research. Vampirism had too many side effects, too many chances to go feral. Becoming a Lich was the best academically, but I enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh.

Alchemy held the answer.

I sent a double request to the Dark Brotherhood. First, I would be willing to pay top dollar (Read: 500 Septims) for a vial of blood and a vial of venom from Vicente Valtieri; a high class vampire. I was perfectly willing to pay the man himself if he could deliver. Second, and this one I was willing to pay a staggering 2000 Septims for; the body of J'Ghasta. Vicente came himself the next night; with both vials and questions; and so I explained the massive reward.

"Honestly the death is secondary; I need his body intact and preserved from the neck down. The reason I am willing to pay so much is simple; everything must go right in order for this to work and be worth it. J'Ghasta must be killed without poison with an attack to the head. His body must then be preserved and transported in secret to my lab. The reason I don't offer bonuses and instead have one all or nothing payment is the simple fact that if just one thing goes wrong then I simply won't pay you. Every single thing has to go right in order for this to be worth it. Will you accept? I will of course, still pay you for this blood and venom you have given me as I treat that as a second contract."

At the time I had no idea I was asking them to kill one of their own. I needed the body of a Khajiit hand-to-hand combat master; muscles and organs perfectly preserved. In the end the order was fulfilled to the letter and I had used up nearly all my personal gold.

For the next ten years I was pure Arch-Mage Falcar, researching solely using the Arcane University's resources. I managed to nick some of Caranya Delmar's notes about staff creation along the way, since at some point in time I wanted to combine my staves into a Staff of Soul Charm.

It was during this research period that I met Tar-Meena; the Argonian researcher who specialized in the Daedra. I wanted her body and mind the instant I met her; and slowly with only my natural charisma pulled her into my web. She had a lifetime of research; I offered her an eternity with me. Pretty soon I was fucking her like a horny assistant; which she soon became. The decade of fucking that Argonian in the library, on my desk, in my bed with our research thrown to the floor were some of the best memories of my life. Not that we ever stopped of course.

To call this new formula I developed a Vampire-Khajiit formula was a disgrace. If that's all I needed I could have simply created and possessed one. I had instead created a new subcategory of vampire, one whose claws were hard and venomous (thank you Serpent!). But most importantly: a vampire that didn't need to drink human blood.

That was the reason for ten years of research with Alchemy: a vampire that could substitute successfully with animal blood. Enjoying your meat rare was far less conspicuous then attacking humans. And that's what I was after. Anonymity. That and a larger variety of food to keep myself sane.

After an eleven year term I resigned and left with Tar-Meena. To this day she was the only other person I have turned with the original formula. We went to Elsweyr, searching for Khajiit monks in order to learn the Whispering Fang Style; which actually suited our new bodies.

Although no one could call either of us out of shape, our land was dangerous after all, we simply weren't built. That's why they were going to learn the perfect close-combat style for their new species. I will build both of us up.

It took us nearly twenty years in order to master the Whispering Fang style. After that I decided it was time for Falcar to disappear in translation. We told no one our names in Elsweyr; and when we moved to Skyrim I once again went back to my birth name Mannimarco. Because my birth name and title sound badass.

Tar-Meena's obsession with Daedric artifacts and knowledge also led to one inevitable conclusion: the worship of Hermaeus Mora. Now having the Daedra pay attention to me was definitely not in my life plans. On the other hand; I happened to be immortal, powerful and going to the frontier so to speak looking for something to do. Say what you want; the Daedra at least always have something for you to do. And serving Hermaeus Mora was a lot like serving me; it's actually frightening the amount of similarities we three have.

I also think he finds my loyalty to my assigned liege admirable; or at least amusing. I have yet to find a reason to bite the hand that feeds you and Hermaeus Mora and the Imperial Empire both feed me well. Also, between you and me; giving my soul to Apocrypha when I die sounds like a pretty sweet deal; at least I'll know what I signed up for.

I was somewhat glad for the move. Things had gone bat-shit-crazy since I had left. Red Mountain; Red fucking Mountain; had blown. Of course that was more almost thirty years ago but we had been shielded, by being taught by monks, and were dissociated from the world. We spent some time traveling around Skyrim before moving to Whiterun. Then the Argonians invaded Morrowind. Poor bastards; but their women were coming here; to Skyrim, so I didn't complain too hard.

It spoke volumes of her devotion to me that Tar-Meena didn't even bat an eyelid at the invasion; just went right back to fucking me. I signed myself up to the Companions; telling them that I was a mage that hated the lack of honour in my fellow peers and went to study with the monks of Elsweyr. Now I sought honour with the Companions after mastering unarmed combat.

Those idiots ate it all up; after I proved my mastery of the Whispering Fang in a brawl of course. One thing about me that you have to know is my obsession with mastery. If I was going to be a companion then I was going full fucking battalion: Full heavy Ancient Nord armour with a Skyforge Steel Greatsword. I was as fit and flexible as a snake. Now it was time to get me some Nord arms and shoulders. Tar-Meena was on a mission by our Daedric Prince with my staves; seemed we had pleased him and as a boon for this activity he would complete my new staff. Got to love working for gods.

I got a lot of respect from my fellow Companions for going all out for them; and as a result the free lessons and pointers came pouring in.

At the time I didn't know that the members of the Circle were werewolves. My respect and enthusiasm for their cause actually allowed me to join despite the fact that they could 'tell' I was a vampire. They decided to keep a watch on me; in secret of course. But after a year of observation (including all nights) they had never seen me feed on a human. When I finally found out I laughed for about ten minutes in private, thinking about the Nord Companions scratching their heads over me.

After a year of training; during which I began acquiring the necessary arm size to swing one of those oversized butcher knives; they finally confronted me. I told them that I wasn't a vampire; not truly. I didn't need to feed for one. Of course I didn't go over the details but most just assumed that I was a half-vampire; meaning my parent was one. I never told them otherwise and politely refused to take the beast blood, saying that I was happy with what I was, and the Hunting Grounds of Hircine held little interest to me.

The Nords once again assumed that I was aiming for Sovngarde and gave me even more respect. Idiots. I spent a long time in the Companions and Jorrvaskr after all that; saving up coin and honour whilst Tar-Meena was saving up knowledge and artifacts.

Over the years and decades I got better and better at fighting in heavy armour and using a Greatsword, until I could wield that sword with one hand. I developed an insane fighting style, using one or two hands and even impaling my sword in the ground or a corpse and using it like a pole or anchor. Many Companions thought my fighting style was excessive and unnecessary.

I convinced the Circle to follow me into a bandit fortress. I cast invisibility and muffle and the whole group; then woke up the entire fort and soloed it. I guess when they saw my kill the two Orc leaders in full heavy armour; one via ramming my fingers into his eyes and into his brain and the other by breaking his neck with a double kick from anchoring my Greatsword in the first's corpse; they changed their tune.

That and I killed about twenty other insects without taking a single wound; and they finally got the message and got the hell out of dodge. I was granted the title Mannimarco the Undying; much to my amusement and irony and was known as the best blade master of the Companions, maybe all of Skyrim. I found it a delicious irony that the Grey Prince (the greatest blade master I had ever witnessed in my mortal life) was also a half-vampire.

I always repaid my debts and many years later; during the Great War against the Thalmor, I rescued two brothers, Vilkas and Farkas, and went on to train them. Vilkas turned out to be a natural teacher and Farkas a natural fighter; even more so than usual for a Nord Companion. Of course I wouldn't be me if I wasn't getting some sex along the way.

Aela the Huntress's mother; to be precise. One of the few actual regrets I had in my life was not catching on to the fact that she was sick until it was too late. Why that woman never told me (the greatest healer in _all _of Skyrim) was a mystery until almost a year after her death. No one knew I was Falcar; this was one of the casualties of having separate identities.

Now I didn't say I was Aela's father, oh no. It seemed the women of that particular bloodline found it hot if a man _injured_ them in a brawl. Gave her claw mark scars across her face with my Whispering Fang style when she accused me of being a Thalmor spy.

I got great satisfaction from bringing in a desk to my private room, casting muffle on her; then having her suck my dick whilst I talked to her husband and daughter in the same room. Little Aela seemed to have a crush on me and it turned me on so much to imagine a mother-daughter future threesome.

Not to be, but Aela had grown up even more beautiful than her mother and even made a face paint tattoo of the claw marks I gave her mother.

Life was good.


End file.
